


This One's For Fighting

by Alex51324



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex51324/pseuds/Alex51324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In StoatSandwich's 4F AU, Sergeant Barnes catches Dugan giving Steve a "riflery lesson."  He is not pleased.  Gen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This One's For Fighting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stoatsandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoatsandwich/gifts).



> Content Notes: Institutionalized dubcon is inherent in the AU; this is referred to, but no actual dubcon takes place in this fic.
> 
> The 4F AU was developed by Stoatsandwich, who generously opened up the sandbox. In it, Steve does not receive the super-soldier serum and instead signs up to be an army hooker. It's an exploration of power dynamics and the sacrifices demanded of men at war, as shown through tiny!Steve getting gangbanged by the Howling Commandos. Apart from that basic premise, the only other detail you really need to know to follow this story is that, in the AU, Steve and Bucky don't meet until Steve joins the Howlies as their combat hooker. But if any of what I've just said sounds good, I suggest you start with "Steve's War"--it's marked as second in Stoatsandwich's series, but takes place first chronologically and contains most of the world-building (which is well-researched and as realistic as possible for an institutionalized dubcon AU). 
> 
> Finally, I apologize to the character of Dum-Dum Dugan, who I know only through other people's fic and the occasional comics panel I've seen on Tumblr. I needed somebody to be a little bit of a jerk in this fic, and I don't know enough about the Howling Commandos to make an informed choice.

_This is my rifle,_  
This is my gun.  
This one’s for fighting,  
This one’s for fun. 

_\--Full Metal Jacket_

Sighting down the rifle barrel, Steve tried to ignore the press of Dugan’s hands over his own and, more importantly, the press of Dugan’s cock against his backside. The Howling Commandos were in rest camp for a week, and for once, he was getting a rest, too. The pro station here was Free French, and they were happy to service _all_ of the Howlies, Morita and Jones included, so most of the guys were taking advantage of the opportunity to have a woman for a change. Apart from cleaning and mending, Steve didn’t have a lot to do—and with all that time on his hands, he’d come up with the idea that it would be to everyone’s benefit, really, if he had some weapons training. He wasn’t _supposed_ to be fighting, but going into the field with the commandos like he did, something might come up. 

Convincing any of the guys to see it his way had been a challenge, but eventually Dugan had agreed to teach Steve how to shoot, on the condition that Steve visit the pro station and get the blonde girl with the big tits to teach him a trick with her tongue that Dugan liked, which seemed fair enough. 

Dugan pressed Steve’s finger against the trigger, and the rifle went off, the recoil throwing Steve back against Dugan—which Steve suspected was pretty much what Dugan had had in mind. He didn’t seem to be taking the lesson as seriously as Steve would have liked. Still, Steve did his best to concentrate, and they fired off a few more shots, Dugan eventually letting Steve actually pull the trigger himself, though he kept both hands on the rifle. 

“Nice shooting, dollface,” Dugan said, while Steve scowled at the tin can they were using for a target—and which he had missed by, at a guess, about half a mile. 

“I think I got it now,” he said. “Let me try it myself.” He would probably shoot better without Dugan pressed up against him. Couldn’t really do much worse, anyway.

“Aw, kid, the kick’ll knock you on your ass.”

“My ass has had worse,” Steve pointed out. 

“You wanted to fire my rifle, you fired it. Now why don’t we—”

Whatever he had been about to suggest—and Steve had a guess or two—was cut off by Sergeant Barnes’s voice, saying, “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

Steve wriggled out of Dugan’s arms as quick as if being in Dugan’s arms wasn’t his job. “Oh. Hi. Sergeant. Dugan was just, um, teaching me to shoot. In case I needed to. In an emergency.” He’d asked some of the other guys before getting Dugan to agree, but he hadn’t dared try Sergeant Barnes—in Steve’s not-inconsiderable experience, authority figures were better asked forgiveness than permission. 

“Dum-Dum,” Barnes said. “Remind me, exactly, who is in charge of this pack of lunatics we call a squad?”

“You are, Sarge.”

“And who is the top marksman in the pack of lunatics?”

“You are, Sarge,” Dugan repeated. 

“So you want to tell me what the _fuck_ gives you the idea you have any business teaching Rogers to shoot a rifle?”

For a second, Steve wondered if Dugan was going to explain about the blonde with the big tits and the trick she did with her tongue. Wisely, Dugan chose to say, “No, Sarge.”

“Dugan,” Barnes said.

“Yes, Sarge?”

“Fuck off.”

Dugan fucked off. 

“You,” Sergeant Barnes said. 

“Me?” Steve asked. 

“Wait here.” 

Barnes left, and Steve waited, wondering if he was going to get reamed out figuratively, literally, or both. Or maybe Barnes was going to actually take Steve over his knee and spank him, a thing he’d threatened to do more times than Steve cared to count. 

Whatever Sergeant Barnes was getting ready to do, it seemed to be taking him a long time. Steve decided to sit down and wait—you know, while he still could.

#

_Teaching me to shoot_ , Bucky’s hairy ass. He’d watched for a minute, before he said anything, and it was clear as day that Dugan wasn’t really trying to teach Rogers any-god-damn-thing. Leaving aside Dugan’s clowning around and grinding on him, there was not one thing right about Steve’s grip on the rifle, no trigger discipline; the stance he’d been in didn’t give him a prayer in hell of _not_ falling on his ass from the kick. _Bucky_ would fall on his ass from the kick if he stood like that.

Thing was, it was obvious to anyone who was paying the least bit of attention that the kid wanted to be over here fighting, not fucking. He always listened in on strategy sessions, argued about being left behind in a safe place when they engaged the enemy, _several_ times suggested that they use him as bait or a decoy—plus, y’know, he’d volunteered for a front-line combat unit, which ought to be enough right there to tell you something. The kid was small and sickly and a fairy, but he had guts, and he was a fighter at heart. 

And it just burned Bucky up that Dum-Dum used that as an excuse to cop a cheap feel. Particularly since he didn’t _need_ an excuse—if Dugan wanted Rogers’s ass on his cock, all he had to do was say so. 

It took some time, at the supply depot, to get across what he wanted without explaining why he wanted it, but eventually, they came up with something that would work. Bucky thought that Steve might have wandered off, but when he got back to the range, Steve was still waiting. He’d gone over to sit down by a tree, but he stood up when he saw Bucky coming back. “Sarge,” he said warily.

“Rogers. Catch.” He tossed over what he’d picked up from supply. “One thing Dugan got right—and it’s the only thing he got right—is that a thirty-ought-six is going to knock you on your ass every time. A twenty-two should be more your speed—and don’t get your back up; they’re issued as a secondary weapon for artillery and mortar crews; nothing to be ashamed of.” The supply clerk had told him that, and he’d noted it specially. 

Rogers was turning the weapon over in his hands, alternately looking down at it and up at Bucky, like he wondered if this was some kind of joke. 

“Right, now the first thing you have to learn is how to field-strip it….”

(End)

(PS: A few weeks later, when Colonel Phillips said, “Sergeant Barnes, tell me I did not see that fairy of yours carrying a rifle,” Bucky said, with perfect honesty, “You did not see that, sir.” It was a _carbine_.)


End file.
